


Tarnished Silver

by Exstarsis



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Church Sex, Dark, Extreme Thirst, F/M, Horror, Hurt No Comfort, Orgasm Denial, POV Second Person, Self-Insert, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21850948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exstarsis/pseuds/Exstarsis
Summary: You're an agent of the Clocktower, hiding out at this church while the Holy Grail War runs its course. Hey, this priest guy is really hot! And you'rereallybored.
Relationships: Kotomine Kirei/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	Tarnished Silver

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by other Kirei/Reader fics to take the plunge myself. It doesn't really do anything new, but I hope you like it anyhow.

You were a very naughty girl during the early part of the Grail War, spying, lying and crying on command, all as part of your community service to the Clocktower. And when your deck of tricks emptied, you played your final card and fled to a very particular church where you knew nobody could touch you until the War ended and Clocktower brought you home.

Nobody, that is, but the priest, Kotomine Kirei.

You’d never before encountered such indifference on a man’s face. Disgust, lust, and frustration you knew very well, but when he granted your request for asylum, he looked at you like you were a hymnal he’d memorized long ago. It entranced you, and you watched him with growing interest in the long boring days that followed.

Indifferent, almost apathetic, and yet he wasn’t a passive man. He tended to his church dutifully, seeing to the upkeep of both the building and his small and elderly flock. He took care of his own mind and body as well: reading and training daily. He had a small bare room on the second floor of the annex where, peeping through the cracked door, you could watch his utterly magnificent body move through the forms of his martial art, wearing nothing but workout pants.

He didn’t invite you inside to watch him, but he wasn’t stupid and you weren’t subtle. So one day, only a few days after you arrived, you pushed the door open and walked in. He paused, giving you a cool glance, but when you simply leaned against the wall, he returned to his movements.

When he finished, he wiped himself down and you imagined helping him.

“What do you want?” he asked calmly, startling you from your fantasies.

“Just checking out the sights, Father!” You gave him a smile as sweet as poison.

“I see,” he said, and you had the strong sense he saw your daydreams as well. Rumor had it this particular priest could do magecraft, so it wasn’t impossible. 

You gave a tiny, thrilled wriggle at the thought. “Church is a little more exciting than I expected.”

He finished cleaning himself up in silence. A moment later he crossed to you and lifted your chin with one long finger. His deep voice rumbled in your ears as he said, “How wicked you are, wanting to seduce a priest.”

With a slow smile, you asked, “Aren’t we all sinners in the eyes of your god?”

He considered you expressionlessly. But despite the chill in his eyes, you weren’t the least bit surprised when he leaned down and kissed you. His lips were hot from his recent workout, and you could smell the sweat he couldn’t wipe away. Just the brush of his mouth left you so electrified your knees felt weak, and when he caught your lower lip between his teeth and tongue, you had to grab him or fall over completely.

Your fingers curled against his bare, heavily muscled chest, just for an instant. Then he lifted his head and stepped away from you, moving past you as if nothing had happened. You caught yourself on the wall and stared after him in confusion as he walked away.

“Hey!” you called.

He glanced back and said, “Come with me,” just as he had that first night when he showed you your small bedroom.

This time he took you to a walk-in closet near the sanctuary, where candles and candlesticks were stored. Gesturing at a shelf with blackened silver and silver polish, he ordered, “Clean these.” Then, while you were still trying to figure out the secret message under such a ludicrous statement, he was gone.

Once you realized he had no secret message, you did  _ not _ clean the candlesticks. You were bored, but not that bored. 

It wasn’t that you had anything against helping. While you’d expected to be given chores when you first presented yourself for asylum, you certainly hadn’t complained when he’d said nothing. But with the candlesticks he hadn’t requested. He hadn’t even explained. He’d just  _ walked away _ from you. 

To hell with his candlesticks.

The next morning, when you went to observe his workout, the bare room was empty and the scent of his sweat had staled. You couldn’t find him  _ anywhere _ within the church for more than an hour, and he wasn’t on the grounds either. It was the first time you’d been unable to locate him during the day. 

The church seemed haunted without him. You stood in the sanctuary wondering where he’d gone and you couldn’t help thinking about how some churches kept the dead in crypts below. You imagined hearing their voices, and the papery sounds as they writhed in their chains.

Okay, maybe you were actually  _ that bored _ , if you were making up ghost stories. And rubbing candlesticks was fun in its own way. So you spent the time it took to perfectly polish a single softly rounded candlestick. After, you placed it on the altar in the sanctuary and settled yourself into the second pew, one foot on the pew in front of you so your ruffled skirt fell partway down your thigh.

You dozed off while waiting for him to return, but you woke at the bang of a nearby door in time to make sure you weren’t drooling. He walked past you without paying you any notice, which you now expected. But when he stopped at the altar to inspect your offering, you grinned.

“Come here,” he commanded coldly as he picked up the candlestick. You rose to your feet, shaking out the ruffles on your skirt before joining him. He turned toward you, dangling the candlestick carelessly from one hand.

“I hope I’ve pleased you, Father. I thought of you the whole time I worked.” You giggled, staring up into his fathomless dark eyes. “On my knees, of course.”

Without warning he kissed you again. His movement was sudden, his hands caging you against the altar. His kiss was both more forceful and more confident than you imagined a priest could be, his tongue thrusting into your mouth and utterly dominating your own. You were instantly damp. Without the altar behind you, you’d have to hold onto him again, and you were way too smart for that. Why, you took honors at mage/spy school your first (and only) term. Yes, you’d noticed that he stopped kissing you before when you’d touched him. This time, hands-free!

After a wonderfully exciting moment of him ravishing your mouth, you felt a hard pressure against your leg through your skirt. The  _ back _ of your leg, near the knee. But you realized after a distracted moment that it was the candlestick. The priest was dragging the candlestick up your thigh, very, very slowly.

It was an S-rank challenge not to touch him at that point. You wanted to peel him out of those boring black clothes and press every inch of yourself to him, right there on the altar. But you got a C+ in Not Pushing The Big Red Button exam, so you managed to resist that temptation.

All the same, despite your self-control, as soon as the candlestick lifted the bottommost layer of your petticoat, he stopped dead. “Clean the rest,” he said against your mouth. Then he pushed away from the altar, put the candlestick down, and walked away.

You gasped and straightened up. After a stunned moment of realization, you shouted, “You  _ ASSHOLE _ !” Your voice echoed to the high roof. Then you grabbed the candlestick and hurled it directly at his head.

He was already turning in response to your shout, so he caught the candlestick effortlessly. In his most indifferent voice, he said, “Keep your voice low and respectful in the house of God. I wouldn’t want to have to ask you to leave.”

And for the first time, although it was across a dimly lit room, you saw the malice in his eyes.

Yet not long after, you found yourself cleaning the damn candlesticks. With spray polish, cleaning clothes, and a disgustingly utilitarian apron, you worked hard at making lots of little distorted mirrors to sneer at yourself in.

It wasn’t just that you were curious about the rate of exchange. You also remembered that whole  _ asylum _ thing. You weren’t just stuck in here until that silly Grail War ended. You were stuck in here until the Clocktower extracted you. How could it hurt to do what he asked? And if you played your cards right, it would hopefully be fun, even if he never returned to his training room again.

The exchange rate for his attentions turned out to be surprisingly hard to figure out. He wouldn’t even acknowledge two candlesticks on the altar, but when there were four, the candlestick traced its way up your thigh all the way to your ass before he stopped. And at five, its cool round hardness was pressing against your wet panties before he stopped. But six got you nothing, nor seven, and then you realized you only had one candlestick left.

You took the dirty one to his unpleasantly spartan office and leaned on his desk, showing off what cleavage you had. “Oh, Father, I’m nearly done with the silver. What can I do for you next?”

He took the candlestick from you without acknowledging your chest, or, you realized once you thought about it, you. With the faintest smile, he rubbed his thumb across the streaked and smeared silver surface. Then he sniffed it, before finally giving you an amused look. “I’ll show you.” 

Standing, he placed the candlestick on a shelf.

“Don’t you want me to clean that one?” You were suddenly a little nervous without knowing why.

Still amused, he said, “Oh no. I think I’ll keep this one for later. I find it’s always good to have a… familiar tool for a particular job.”

He took you to another closet in the main church and left you once again. This one had supplies to clean and iron stacks and stacks of white cloth. Some were tablecloths and altarcloths. Some were shrouds. Some were medical gowns. Everything were stained brown here and there but you definitely had better things to think about than that. 

It occurred to you that he hadn’t been back to his training room since he first kissed you, and that he continued to vanish every morning. Odd. You’d have to figure that out once you’d solved some other little challenges, like how to get absolutely reamed by him on the altar as soon as possible. Oh, and the exchange rate. You were pretty sure you were going to want his cock more than once.

A small stack of eight folded cloths rewarded nothing. Nor did a slightly taller stack of nine, or another of ten. At eleven, just when you were ready to throw something at him again, he pushed you against a pew and begins to kiss your neck as both his hands slid up the backs of your thighs. He’d never left your mouth before, so this was delicious and novel! 

But again he stopped everything when his hands were halfway up and his mouth at your collarbone. At two-thirds up, he licked your ear before stopping. When you next earned his attentions, he had his hands on your ass and his mouth on the top of your breast before he stopped, and he left behind a sexual ache you couldn’t quite satisfy on your own.

And then you were out of cloth to iron, except for the last folded medical gown. When you reported in, he placed the gowl on the high shelf next to the candlestick before showing you to a larger closet in the annex, where there were shelves of dirty glassware and a large sink. 

This time he turned at the door. “Oh and don’t clutter my altar with glass.” Once again, malice glittered in his eyes. “It would be inconvenient to clean when you broke it.”

You spent a short time contemplating how he expected you to break it and a much longer time worrying about how you could show off your progress and earn your prize. The realization, when it came to you, was blinding. You just had to wash everything: every wine glass, every flask, every test tube and every syringe. Your fingers acquired nicks in the wash water because some of the glass was already cracked, but the pain was minor despite the red of the water.

It washed away, anyhow.

When you were done, when there wasn’t even a single piece of dirty glassware for him to take as a trophy, you went to find him and claim your reward. He was gone, of course. He was gone so often when you looked for him now. But when you asked, he always claimed he never left the church. It was a mystery, and one you were definitely going to solve soon. Just as soon as you showed him how you’d outwitted him.

You found him once again in his office, although he damn well hadn’t been there twenty minutes previous. Glancing around the room for a secret door--your trained instincts told you there had to be one somewhere--you couldn’t help but notice one of the glass syringes on the shelf beside the candlestick and the folded white cloth. You recognize it as one of the last ones you washed. 

Frowning, because clearly you still hadn’t figured out his game, you once again leaned on his desk as he perused a book of lists and equations. “Well, Father? I washed everything. What’s my reward?”

He gave you an indifferent glance as he turned a page. “You seek a reward for your voluntary labor?”

You sat on his desk, one knee up. You stopped wearing tights or panties a while ago, and there wasn’t much left to the imagination when you sat like that. “You know, like how you’ve been rewarding me so far?”

“Ah, I see. You consider that a  _ reward _ for services rendered, then?” He didn’t glance up from the book again. “Interesting.”

He read for a while. Your leg started to cramp and you debated between kicking him and sitting on the book. But you thought of your asylum and instead decided to move behind him to make a more literal push by draping yourself over his shoulders.

As soon as you slid off the desk, though, he said, “You may watch tonight’s service from the VIP room overlooking the sanctuary. If you choose to do so, and a VIP comes in, I strongly suggest you do not look at him.” He finally looked up at you, his eyes glittering. “Doing so would mean your instant death.”

That, at least, you could recognize as an answer to your demand for a reward. You left him and went to pick out something nice to wear. Even if you couldn’t look at the supposed VIP, you certainly wanted him to enjoy looking at you.

You arrived early, and noticed how odd the VIP room was. There were no chairs, but a glass wall allowed viewers to look down the sanctuary from high in the back. You had an excellent view of the altar and the pulpit, where nothing happened for too long. By the time the service began, you were bored nearly to death. 

But as soon as the priest appeared, your boredom vanished. Even in his boring black priest clothes, you could appreciate how strong and powerful he was. It was impossible to take your eyes off him and you watched Kotomine Kirei greet his congregation while dreaming about how he’d join you in the VIP room later in the service. You could hardly wait.

Instead, the door opened while he was still making announcements, and somebody else entered the room, smelling of leather and expensive musky cologne. At the same time, Kirei met your gaze from his pulpit. The newcomer moved up behind you and put long-fingered hands on your hips, and Kirei smiled. 

He stepped back, granting the pulpit to the music director, as the hands on your hips moved up your ribcage and curled around your breasts. You gasped, and there was a low, masculine chuckle in your ear. But that C+ in Not Pushing The Big Red Button showed itself again and you did not look behind you, not when the VIP squeezed your breasts or nipped your throat.

While the congregation sang, Kirei seated himself in a chair partially hidden behind an ornate fence, where he usually reviewed his sermon notes. Only you saw the priest fully as he leaned back. He watched you with half-closed eyes as the man behind you unbuttoned the frilly blouse you chose. 

The VIP slid his hands in and under your lacy bra, running his thumbs over your pert peaks, while you stared down into Kirei’s eyes. For a few minutes, the man played with your breasts and both your breathing and his own became harsher as your nerves sizzled and you wriggled your backside against his hard body.

Then, as the man moved his hands lower, you put your own on the glass wall, staring hard at Kirei. His hands were in his pockets, and while he was no longer smiling, he continued to stare at you with unusual interest. It turned you on as much as the hands on your body did, so much that when the man pulled up your skirt in front so he could slide a finger between your folds, you felt a bolt of pleasure so strong your vision swam.

The man behind you grumbled something you didn’t understand in a rich, velvety voice, before sliding two fingers into your slick core. Carefully, his chin almost on your shoulder, he fucked you with his fingers while Kirei watched. You shivered and moaned, wanting more, even knowing anybody could follow Kirei’s gaze and see you up there. But the VIP moved slowly, teasingly, pushing you to the brink of exploding with pleasure before he withdrew his hand and stepped away. 

The door clicked behind him as he left, while you stared down at Kirei, your bare breasts flattened against the glass. He smiled at you as he stood to return to his pulpit. You realize he’d started smiling as soon as the man behind you stopped.

You approached him in the annex after the service as he spoke with some old couple. You were certain you displayed no sign of what happened in the VIP room, and yet he said, “You look flustered, girl. Did something happen?”

“I’ve run out of ways to volunteer around the church, Father,” you said, as sweet as ever. As the old couple gushed over your sense of service (so unusual in young people these days), Kirei looked you up and down, slowly and deliberately, reminding you that you were on full display for him as he preached the word of his God. 

“I have a task I can use you for,” he finally said. “Meet me in the sanctuary later this evening.” And then he turned you off, as he did so often, focusing his entire attention on his flock.

You went back to the sanctuary to wait, trying to imagine the next way he’d torment you. There were some things you’d draw the line at, and you hoped he managed to avoid them. While this game was fun, really you just wanted him to  _ fuck you _ , hard, fast and as soon as possible. 

You were pretty sure sooner or later he would. You always had a sense for these things.

When he finally came into the sanctuary, you were sitting on the altar kicking one foot. He gave you that cool look that said what you were doing wasn’t interesting enough to notice, but you happened to be in his line of sight anyhow. You were used to it. You grinned back.

He joined you at the altar, moving behind it to open the cupboard underneath. When he pulled a lever inside, part of the floor behind the altar opened up, revealing a narrow staircase going down. “The patients below must be tended. There’s a list at the end of each cot.” The smell emerging up from the room below was not pleasant. 

His eyes glittered as he added, “When you’re done, I’ll have another task for you. More polishing work. Since you proved yourself so adept before.”

It was his cock. You were  _ sure _ he was talking about his cock this time. You’d spent too many days watching this man to have any doubt. And boy oh boy, it might not have been what you  _ really _ wanted, but you’d take it. 

You walked down the stairs into the dim room full of gurneys, which smelled like the wing of the hospital where everybody was practically dead. Some of the little tasks required were kind of icky (like changing diapers and dispensing drugs from glass syringes) while some were merely tedious (like measuring recent growth and changing feeding bags). Most of the patients were smaller than you, but they were definitely not cuter. 

As you worked, you couldn’t help thinking about how each gurney you completed brought you closer and closer to that hot, hard flesh filling your daydreams. By the time you cleaned up and mounted the stairs again, you were so aroused that you were pretty sure you’d cry like an abandoned child if he’d tricked you once again.

But he sat in his chair near the pulpit, once again leaning back. This time his eyes were closed, his head tilted to the heavens. As you pulled the lever and the secret door closed, he said, “Come here.”

You walked over to his chair and he put his hand on your leg, sliding it up your thigh as he’d done before. His eyes slitted open. “Rejoice, girl. You have successfully seduced a priest.” His fingers ran over your ass as your eyes widened.

“I have? I mean, of course I have. Duh.” His fingers moved between your legs and you shuddered, catching yourself on the arm of his chair.

Softly, he said, “You’re one of the few women I know able to stimulate me in such a way. And so I will have you, before another day has dawned.” 

Nice words, but even nicer was the way his fingers slipped inside you while his thumb stroked between your inner folds. You gasped and swayed as you leaned over him, biting back a moan.

Then he stood, bearing you back to the altar. Hungrily, you opened the snap and zipper of his slacks even as he moved you, so that when your hips bumped the altar, you’d freed his thick, long cock. You weren’t sure what happened to the polishing phase, but who the hell cared about that at a time like this?

He lifted you onto the altar and crammed himself into you, stretching you so wide it stung as he pushed in deeper than anybody’d gone before. His fingers bit hard into your hips as he got a good grip.

You stared up into his icy, dark eyes, panting. It wasn’t malice you saw then but something raw and unbridled. Lust? Anger? You didn’t really care what it was, but his eyes blazed and you felt incredibly smug that you’d caused that.

Then he was pounding into you, hard and deep. His hips slammed into yours and you mewled with each punishing thrust. You were as wet as possible, yet the savagery of his assault still made the friction half-pleasure and half-pain. But he kept going, like a holy-powered piston, just fucking and fucking you. Slowly the pain numbed out and the pleasure started to win.

Then he dragged himself from you. You howled and kicked in frustration before he flipped you onto your stomach and shoved into you again. From behind, it felt even better: that hot, hard cock slamming into you, rubbing against your insides, merging with the ache of abused muscles and the sharpness of his fingernails to become a promise of bliss. 

This was a  _ truly glorious _ fucking. Definitely worth every hour of work. You were barely aware of your own cries anymore, but each of his desperate grunts as he filled you rang like music in your ears. You were even feeling dreamily regretful his VIP friend wasn’t around to give you something to do with your mouth when your gaze fell on a little collection of items at the far end of the altar. A blackened candlestick, a folded white gown, and a glass syringe containing an amber liquid, sort of like what you gave the kids downstairs.

_ Huh _ , you thought. Then the best orgasm of your life swept over you, and you stopped thinking anything at all.


End file.
